Rain
by KittyKatIII
Summary: This actually comes from a prompt, but for the life of me, I cannot remember it. England has always had a slight problem with rain, and has come to practically hate it, but France has always loved it. Although his country has great farmland, it is rare for him to see the large and dark clouds that promise a storm. First story ever, be gentle.


France continued singing the soft lullaby, the one that he used to sing to England when he was just a kid, as he held the shaking and sobbing Brit in his arms, the rain pounding on the windows. He kept singing and rubbing England's back, even when he stopped crying. France would try to make this moment last as long as he could. He looked down at the sandy blonde in his arms, checking to see if he had fallen asleep, since he had not yet pushed him away. He was surprised to find that the Brit was wide awake, his forest green eyes wide open and shining with the drying tears. The skin under his eyes was red and puffy. His fingers were clutching, never letting go, at France's shirt.

"Angleterre?" France asked gently.

England did nothing but raise his glassy forest green eyes to France's clear sky blue ones.

"Angleterre, what is wrong. Please, tell me, Arthur."

The Brit in his arms blinked slowly before answering. "Francis?"

"Oui?"

"It is raining."

France was confused by the answer. "It is. What is ze point be'ind zat?"

"I hate the rain. Every day it rains here. Just once, I would like it to be sunny, like where you live, but it never is. And I'm lonely all the time, too. No one to keep me going through all the rain. I suppose it is fitting though. Lonely people are usually surrounded by rain, and people like you get the sun."

France was shocked by the Briton's answer. How could he hate the rain? He loved it. Then again, England had to deal with it every day, while it was very rare for him. "You are not alone, mon amour. You 'ave me, and you know it."

Arthur's eyes were filling with fresh tears. "Don't lie to me! I don't have you, I don't have anybody! You hate me, Remember?!"

Now Francis was just horrified. " 'Ow could you say zat?! I could never really 'ate you. It is simply impossible."

Arthur was becoming slightly enraged. "Stop it! You hate me! Don't tell me any-"

The Brit was suddenly cut off as Francis smashed their lips together in a rough open-mouthed kiss. Arthur immediately started pushing against the Frenchman's chest, trying to escape. When Arthur finally started relaxing into the kiss, did Francis pull back, but he still held the Englishman close, not letting him get any farther than he had already gotten. They were both panting wildly. Arthur was the first to speak up.

"Stupid frog. What was that for?"

"I was just trying to show you 'ow I could never 'ate you. I love you too much."

Arthur stared at the Frenchman in front of him, not believing the words that had just come out of his mouth. "You what?"

Francis smiled. "I love you. Je t'aime, mon lapin."

Arthur smiled as tears, this time tears of happiness, leaked out his watery green eyes. He suddenly pulled Francis into a bone-crushing embrace before moving his face to whisper in his ear, "I love you too, you stupid frog."

Francis' expression of surprise morphed into a content smile as he returned the embrace and gently closed his eyes. He sighed slightly. Francis' eyes suddenly flew open and he moaned slightly as he felt teeth draw away from his ear. He drew himself back to look down at Arthur's mirthful face. The Brit smirked sexily at the Frenchman's shocked expression. That smirk turned confused as he saw Francis' display a knowing smile and his shining blue eyes went a few shades darker.

"Oh, mon amour, you are going to pay dearly for zat little move."

Before Arthur could question him, he cut himself off with a yelp as he was thrown back onto his bed. Arthur was about cry out against the Frenchman's rough handling had it not been for a tongue suddenly intruding in his mouth. Arthur's eyes quickly slid shut as he moaned loudly around the mouth that was sealed to his own. One particular moan was much louder as Francis did something particularly _sinful_ with his tongue.

Arthur mewled in loss as Francis removed his mouth from his own, but was abruptly cut off as Francis latched his mouth onto the soft skin of Arthur's neck, right where his pulse was. Arthur moaned louder than ever as Francis sucked and bit at the skin, licking over it to sooth the angry red skin that was already turning purple. There was definitely going to be a hickey there. Arthur mewled again as Francis continued nipping down his neck until he reached his collar bone, leaving another hickey. The Frenchman was about to continue down to Arthur's chest, was stopped by the white dress shirt that the Brit was wearing. Francis growled deep in his throat before ripping the shirt open, scattering buttons. And when he encountered trouble sliding the shirt off of England's arms, he just tore it off his body, leaving the once nice shirt in useless tatters.

The Briton's angry cries were cut off as France latched his mouth onto one of his pert nipples, his hand pinching the other, effectively distracting the Englishman below him of the ruined shirt. As Francis licked the bud in his mouth, he raised his eyes to Arthur's face. Francis smirked around the nipple as England blushed heavily as their eyes made contact. Arthur retaliated by bucking his hips up toward Francis'. They both moaned at the delicious friction that was created. When France opened his eyes again, his once clear sky blue eyes were dark enough to considered navy and they were clouded with love and lust. As Francis slipped his shirt off, he spoke up, his accent thicker than ever and his voice had gained a bass-like quality.

"Patience, mon amour. I want to make this special."

Francis could not help but to stop and stare as lightning laced the sky, reflecting off the sheen of sweat that covered the Brit, making it appear as though he was glowing, much like an angel. Francis grinned at the irony of the thought before descending on England's flushed and panting body, kissing, licking, and nipping his way slowly down to the hem of Arthur's pants. Francis grinned again at the way Arthur moaned loudly when he rubbed his cheek against the bulge in his pants, becoming painfully aware of his own erection. Francis chuckled at the way Arthur shuddered and how his eyes flew open as he felt the Frenchman at his legs slowly drag both his pants and boxers over his painfully hard erection. When England sprang free of his confines, France decided to take pity and speed up the pace a bit, ripping the Brit's underwear and pants off completely, leaving Arthur fully exposed, a sight he was sure America would kill to see, and never get to see, if France had anything to do with it.

Francis grinned as their eyes met before descending upon the tall standing cock underneath his face, holding eye contact with Arthur the entire time. He was a little disappointed when he saw Arthur throw his head back and moan, breaking eye contact, but he let it go as he began giving Arthur the blowjob of a lifetime. France smirked around the cock in his mouth as he heard England crying his name in pleasure, non-stop. His smirk grew wider as he felt Big Ben twitch inside his mouth.

"France, please! I'm so close. I-I'm gonna cum!"

Francis lifted his head up and replaced his mouth with his hand as he drew up his head to Arthur's ear to whisper sensually, "Then do it, mon amour. Cum for me. You _know_ you want to."

Francis moved his hand out of the way as he moved his mouth back, this time taking the Brit to his hilt. He could feel the muscles in Arthur's stomach twitch against his nose. France grinned as he heard Arthur moan one last time before his orgasm took over his body, spraying his seed into Francis' waiting mouth. Arthur watched with wide eyes as Francis milked him dry, swallowing every last drop. Arthur would have slapped the frog had he not been exhausted after the words that came out of the Frenchman's mouth next.

"I suppose I should not be surprised zat you taste like tea. You drink too much of zat stuff."

"Well then, I bet you taste like all that bloody wine you drink!"

As Francis slipped off the bed and dropped both his pants and boxers (Arthur's face went really red at that and not just from anger) he contemplated this. Francis smirked as he got an idea. The smirk was still quite evident as he crawled back onto the bed towards the cherry red Brit.

"Would you like to find out?"

"What?!"

"You said zat you bet zat I taste like wine, why don't you find out? Zat sounds like a good idea, oui?"

Arthur's face got even redder (if that is even possible), easily beating Spain's tomatoes before muttering something that was inaudible to any normal human ear, but France could hear it easily enough. Either way, he was going to make England repeat it, a bit louder.

"What was that mon lapin? I'm not sure I heard you correctly."

Arthur's flaming face slowly lifted to be met with a smug smirk. "I said, you fucking cruel frog, that yes, it did sound like a good idea."

Francis' smirk turned into a full out grin. "Good, now come here." Francis beckoned him with a finger.

Arthur hesitantly crawled over to the Frenchman, eyeing the large erection in between his legs. Francis lifted himself up onto his knees as Arthur stopped in front of him, his hands moving to bury themselves in his hair at the back of the Brit's head, bringing his head closer to his waiting cock. England smirked up at him before helping himself to the Eiffel Tower, thriving on the guttural moans that came out of the large body in front of him. Arthur's tongue lapped at the pre-cum that leaked out the head and admitted that no, France did not taste like fine wine. England could feel France becoming undone in his mouth, but before the Frenchman could cum, his head was tugged roughly off of the engorged cock before him.

"N-non, mon amour. I want to cum somewhere else."

England's blush came back, full power, as he caught onto what the Frenchman was implying, but nodded in agreement nonetheless. He yelped as he was shoved roughly back onto the bed, watching as Francis crawled hungrily towards him. When Francis reached him, he towered over the Brit, caging him in place. Francis held three fingers up to Arthur's waiting mouth.

"Suck."

The Englishman did not even hesitate before taking the fingers into his mouth, covering them with as much saliva as he could, knowing what was coming next. As France removed he fingers, a rope of saliva connected his hand to England's mouth. Arthur moaned loudly as he felt the first finger swirl around his entrance before dipping in. Arthur's moan of pleasure turned into a cry of pain as Francis added a second finger and began scissoring them, trying to stretch Arthur's tight entrance. France, in apology for the pain, placed feather-light kisses on the Englishman's pale neck. When Arthur began moaning in pleasure again, Francis added another finger, this time openly kissing the other man's mouth to sooth the pain, hoping Arthur would forgive him for the pain.

When Francis felt that Arthur was ready, he took his fingers out of the Briton's tight ass and spat on the open palm of his large hand before reaching down to lube himself. Francis moaned slightly as his hand dragged across his erection before he slung Arthur's legs over his shoulders and placed himself at his entrance, his long hands holding Arthur steady by the waist. With an apologetic expression pointed in Arthur's direction, he impaled the Englishman with one swift move, flinching at the loud cry of pain that left his soft lips. Francis peppered England's flushed face with gentle kisses, cleaning away the sweet tears that dared escape the soft forest green eyes of the thick-browed Brit.

"Francis, m-move, please."

"Mon lapin, are you sure?"

"Move dammit!"

Francis grinned. "Wiz pleasure, mon amour."

With absolutely no warning, France pulled back so only his head was still enveloped, then pounded back into the Englishman below him, reveling in the moan of pleasure he was able to elicit from him. He pounded into Arthur at different angles, searching for that delicious little bundle of nerves that would make the Briton see stars. A moan that was _much_ louder than the rest signaled France that he had found it. With a grin, Francis began pounding into that one spot relentlessly, waiting for England to come undone beneath him.

"Oh God, Francis! I'm going to cum! I swea- FRANCIS!"

Arthur was cut off by his own yell of pleasure as he rode out his second orgasm of the night. Francis could take it no longer as he felt Arthur's entrance tighten around his base, forcing his orgasm out of him. As he came, Francis growled out a low 'Arthur.'

When they had both finished, they were panting heavily in exhaustion. Francis dragged himself lazily out Arthur before collapsing onto the soiled sheets next to him, tugging the Brit in his arms. Arthur melted into the Frenchman's embrace.

"Je t'aime, Arthur, and don't you ever forget it."

"I won't, and I love you too, even if you are a stupid frog."

They both chuckled tiredly before drifting into a dreamless slumber, rain still pounding on the windows.

The next day, when France pointed out that it was going to rain again, England smiled.


End file.
